While The Light Lasts
by Mariel Gullwhacker
Summary: This has parallels with Joan of Arc. The country of Pargit are ready for trouble. As the danger looms overhead, Aquile look for a leader, and they find one in Catharine Richmond. But even she has secrets...
1. Sunrise

"Villains who twirl their moustaches are easy to spot

"While the light lasts I shall remember, and in the darkness I shall not forget."

Agatha Christie, While The Light Lasts

While The Light Lasts

Part One – Sunrise

The old king, leaning on a stick in his old age, stepped heavily over to his throne, and plumped himself down upon it. He thought bitterly of the neighbouring kingdom – or rather, it's ruler. 

There was something frightening about the ferret monarch. In the Quadruple country, there was no such thing as vermin, so the aged otter could not put it down to prejudice. No, it was something menacing – the otter decided it was merely worry about what might happen to Aquile when he died. No one wanted the four kingdoms to become three – and that might well happen with Pargit and its daunting new ruler.

A brawny squirrel, his heir, bowed to him. Old Myrlin patted him on the back.

There was a complicated way of succession in Aquile. The thirteen royal families married, and the first child to be born of the new reign was the heir. There were occasionally arguments, but usually all went well. 

Usually, that was. A feeling of fear floated around the court, it was as if one of the shrew twins was the heir.

*

Catharine dug feverishly. She could do little else, for Porran was a hard master – a slavedriver, Marian had called him, and Catharine agreed. The tall stoat was not cruel, but his dourness did not endear him to his juniors.

"Right! Work's finished for today! The light's fading! Kit, I said stop! Collect up those tools! There's a storm brewing, you fools! Kit, get up, and don't look so wooden!"

Porran shouted orders, striding about with great assurance, forgetting that he owed his position (small though it was) to the king, and his young heir had no great liking for the strict and bossy stoat.

Catharine gazed at Porran with great dislike. The feeling was mutual, he detested her cool composure, and the fact that he was terrified of what the mousemaid could do with a simple stare did nothing to diminish thisbête-noir.

On her part, she hated to be called 'Kit', and took every chance she got of counteracting the nickname. Porran knew this, he spread the use of the name over the workers until even, unconsciously, Catharine's best friends used the shortened version.

*

"Marian?"

It was in the workers' lodgings. Everyone was gathered around the fire. It was a cold winter.

Marian turned. She was a large, capable hogwife, their landlady, and acted like their mothers.

"Oh, for goodness sakes, child, come closer. You'll be freezin' to death!"

Catharine lifted her face to the kindly hedgehog.

"I'm all right, Marian. I like it here."

"Merciful Providence! Well, it's no concern o'mine if you catch your dethercold, that's all I can say! – What were you going to ask me, dearie?"

"Tell us about the Messengers. Please."

"The messengers?"

"The _Messengers_."

"Oh, those! Well, I've no time for 'em really, all on about fighting for your rights when you're quite satisfied with your lot! I couldn't say. Huh! Most aren't the real thing. There are good fakes, mind! I had one 'ere the other day. Poor lad, quite worried about what'll 'appen to Aquile when the king dies…"

"Hush! That's treason!" gasped the youngest, a tiny squirrel, not more than a season old.

"No, dearie. The king doesn't think of it like that. He says a chap's got to die sometime, and it don't matter if people say so. Anyhow, this lad was a _fake_. Don't let yourselves get mixed up with these creatures. It leads to trouble," said Marian sententiously. "But the real thing…you can't help following them. There's a sort of magnetism. They have charisma all right. I don't know – maybe that's the wrong word."

"Appeal?" suggested Louisa, a weaselmaid.

"Yes, that's it. An appeal to our better selves. They're so young! Very innocent. Well, perhaps not. One was an old squirrel. You could never put one over him. But they are all very striking. Alis of the Malicks was absolutely fascinating, not so much that he was handsome – which he was – but in that everything he did, he forgoed the obvious choice for the unlikely one. He was usually right, too. Once it was between a fine, upstanding young wildcat and a devious criminal for the position of second-in-command. Who do you think he chose?"

"The criminal," said Louisa immediately, and everyone else seemed to agree.

Except Catharine.

"The wildcat," she whispered.

"No," argued Louisa. "Marian said he made strange choices. The criminal."

Catharine shook her head silently.

"As a matter of fact, Catharine's right," remarked Marian. "Your logic was right, Louisa, but you applied it wrongly. This was late in Alis's career – everyone expected him to choose the criminal. They thought he must have a reason for it, and they supported him. But Alis did it again. He chose the wildcat. He always did what nobody expected him to. He was a wildcat himself – a creature of great integrity."

There was a pause. Then Marco, a ferret, cocked his head on one side and inquired if 'Madame Marian has any more little anecdotes about the Messengers?'

Marian regarded him for a moment, then nodded. "Aye. Many tales 'ave been passed down over the years. They say a Messenger is a Messenger all their lives, and when their job's done, they die."

"Oh…no!"

The cry came from Louisa. She blushed and looked down. "I was thinking – what if the Messenger only had one task to do, and it only took them a week or so?"

"It would happen in their twilight seasons, dearie. Fate is never unfair, not really."

"I suppose not."

"Of course not. Anyhow, I don't like to talk about it, except that there's a very funny prophecy being said round here."

"What?"

"Something about trouble when a water-walloper dies, the tree-jumper will pop 'is clogs soon after, and Aquile will be left to a big ferret. An 'ero will rise and some more 'igh-falutin' language that creatures don't want to be bothered with. That's what ol' Marlie says, any'ow, so you know what's goin' to 'appen."

Old Marlie was the village gossip, and the young workers knew that this was a very watered-down account of the prophecy, if there was one.

_A hero_. The words resounded inside Catharine's head. _That's not what he said_.

But Marian was speaking again. "It's a disgrace, it is. That – that…_vermin_!"

"Vermin? What does that mean?" asked Louisa curiously.

"Bad creatures, dearie."

"Oh." Louisa had an idea that Marian had regretted the words as soon as they emerged from her lips. Was vermin, then, a general term applying to certain species – as Porran said?

Marian was harping on the main subject of the gossip nowadays. "I don't know but what people'll do when the Pargiters come along. Soneir may hold them off for a time, but he's only a lad. What we need is a Messenger."

"The Messengers!" Louisa sighed. "Everything comes back to them."

"Yes, dearie. It always does in times of trouble."

"Well, in that case," Louisa stood up, a determined look on her face, "we'd better start looking for a Messenger, then, hadn't we?"

*

Catharine watched the others huddle round the fire, suggesting tortures for any Pargit invaders, and telling gruesome stories. She was well back in a corner, far from any warmth of the blazing hearth; even the flickering light could not reach the shadows in which she skulked. Louisa, glancing at the young mousemaid, wondered suddenly how far away they would have to go to find the Messenger. It was true that Catharine could neither read nor write, that she possessed none of the magnetism that Marian insisted was a necessary part of a Messenger, but she wondered…yes, she certainly wondered…

She was recalled to the conversation by Marco's teasing query as to what she was gawping at. She laughed, and retorted that at least she had the intelligence to gawp and ponder on something she was thinking of instead of giving a great whoop and punching the air. Marco had the grace to blush, but kept quiet for the rest of the evening. A great achievement for him.

*

Louisa crept out of bed and padded softly out of the room, closing the door with a slight click.

She stole along the passage to the other female dormitory. She entered without a sound, and moved towards the bed by the window.

The window was wide open, and Louisa was nearly thrown backwards on to a hefty squirrelmaid's sleeping form with the gale-force wind blowing in. She wondered how they could still go on snoring, but reflected that they worked hard during the day. She glanced outside to check that Catharine was not out there.

Quietly she went downstairs and slipped out of the door. She ran through the filthy streets and made her way to the small, chapel-like building. Here, creatures of all shapes and sizes came to pay their respects to the god of the Quadruple country, Sante.

She opened her mouth to call out to the small figure kneeling there, then thought better of it. Catharine gripped the goblet in both paws and made her offering to Sante. It was an ordinary enough procedure in the town, but in the middle of the night? Catharine bowed her head and rose. Louisa dashed forward impulsively.

"Catharine? What's wrong? Don't look so pale."

Catharine didn't seem to hear. She walked quickly over to a small alcove, and Louisa followed, questioning her worriedly. But no words emerged from Catharine's lips.

She picked up her quarterstaff and broke it across a beam. Louisa flinched and thought: '_she'll regret that._'

Louisa acted at lightning speed. Grasping Catharine's paws in hers, she spoke authoritatively to the sleeping mousemaid.

"Catharine, come with me. Tell me what's wrong. Why you sleepwalk, why you hate Porran, I don't really care what you say! I just want to talk to you."

Catharine's eyes stared unseeingly at her. Louisa took a deep breath and shook her violently.

The mousemaid jerked awake. White-faced, she clutched at Louisa with pitiful strength.

"They're going to kill the king. I saw it. I don't mean King Myrlin. Soneir – the king. _He's_ the king now. Myrlin is dead, I tell you. Louisa…" Catharine stared at the weaselmaid with wide, horrified eyes. "Louisa, they're going to kill King Soneir. And when they do…Aquile – _Aquile_, Louisa. What will happen? You woke me before I could see. And the Messenger – the Messenger – _the flames_, Louisa. It hurt me – I could feel them, touching me, burning me…I was _it_…"

Louisa put her arms about Catharine and tried to soothe her. Passing a cool paw over the mousemaid's forehead, she snatched it back, surprised at the heat that radiated from it.

"Catharine, you're ill. Come back to the lodgings with me – I'll get something to calm you down."

"_No_!"

Louisa jumped back in shock at the force of Catharine's shriek. Angrily she grabbed the mousemaid's paw and dragged her back to Marian's house.

By the time they reached the place, Catharine was completely insensible, murmuring unintelligible words and uttering little cries from time to time. Eventually, Louisa got her to bed and pulled a blanket over the shaking form, leaving the room to wake Marian.

When she returned, Catharine was sitting bolt upright, reciting the prophecy over and over again.

"I don't know what to _do_," whispered Louisa in a sudden burst of panic.

"Nothing, dearie. Go and soak a towel in cold water for me. The young'un'll be fine, it's just a fever. Nothing critical. No, she won't be able to work for a few days, but neither could you when you were taken poorly."

"The worst of Marian," said Louisa to Marco some time later, "is that she's known you ever since you were born. Lucky Catharine – she was a stranger when she first came here."

Louisa fetched the towels and gently wiped the mousemaid's forehead with a corner of the cloth.

"What does she mean?" she asked Marian. "When she's moaning and groaning?"

Marian shrugged, or as well as a hedgehog _can_ shrug when they are clad in a thick dressing gown and are leaning over a sick mouse.

"She says that the king's dead. Mayhap she's remembered that the old water-walloper's old and ill, and it's been twisted in her mind so that she thinks he's dead. You say she was on about a plot to kill Prince Soneir – well, perhaps she's thinkin' of that – that _ferret_ – and his plans to invade Aquile – _our_ Aquile. We'll have no Pargit monarch."

"Do you think – '' Louisa swallowed – "that Catharine could be – could be the Messenger?"

Marian stared at the weaselmaid. "Of course not, silly maid. How could little Kit lead an army? At her age, too!"

"Catharine's young, yes, but – she's _old_, Marian. Older than the king in a way. She'd _never_ have let the shrew twins have a duel over who inherited Dolene Castle. She'd be too wise for that. She'd have known that one of them would die. It was a good thing Prince Soneir intervened. But it's little things like that – the king showed how unwise he was in that."

"Louisa, dearie, I told you that all the Messengers were loved in their days. Does anyone, not includin' our village, know she exists? And those that do know hardly notice her. She's certainly not popular."

"But we _do_ know. It's not that we don't notice her – we know when she's there. We try to ignore her, but we can't really forget that she _is_ there. It's – it's unnerving. And Catharine doesn't have any friends because she doesn't want them – not because they don't want her. I want to be her friend. I want to help her. Tonight she was just a very frightened young mousemaid. But tomorrow – you'll see. But I think I'm the only one that feels like – like that! I'm worried about her. I'm the mother that this little maid never had. She was abandoned by Pargiters six seasons ago. They murdered her family because they strayed over the border. How cruel can you get? I've an idea that they were forced over so that the killings would be condoned as defence against enemies. This island is a terrible place. Divided by two, not very wide, rivers! I hate this whole kingdom. I used to care about what happened to the Quadruple country. Now – well, now…"

Marian winced. She said quickly: "Tell me about Catharine. How do you know about her family?"

"You remember when she first came here? I shared a room with her, and I used to lie awake at night. That was just after my father died, you see, and I thought about how he'd always made the little ones laugh, and how everyone in the village, even Porran, was fond of him…but anyhow, I used to hear Catharine crying, and sometimes she would whisper prayers to Sante, and occasionally talk in her sleep. And she would beg for mercy and scream softly for her mother…"

Marian said hastily: "I understand. So you know what happened?"

"In parts. They went for a walk together, they often did, and Pargiters ambushed them and dragged them over the bridge into Pargit. They beheaded her father and stabbed her mother because she tried to protect Catharine's eldest sister, Agnese. The Pargiters took them to the dungeons in Borun. Her oldest brother and Agnese were executed in the town square. The next two were male, Frederick and Cadoc, and they died because of all the torture they were given, and the others, including Catharine, were forced to watch. Magdalen and Dorothea were smothered one night as they slept, or so Catharine seems to think. That left only her and her youngest brother, Giles, who was separated from her after Magdalen and Dorothea died. She managed to escape when they allowed her to be taken to a celebration in the market."

"But _why_?" asked Marian, deeply interested now.

"I think her family were responsible for the raiding in Pargit. Do you remember it?"

Marian did. Some seasons before, there had been a spasm of raids on rich Pargit families. Gold and silver had been taken, precious jewellery, and other valuable objects had been stolen too. The culprits had never been found, but the fact that Aquile had suddenly grown much richer had leaned suspicion towards the Richmond family, who had a reputation for being conscienceless, but was diverted by the fact that no dirty shadow had ever fallen across their path. Moreover, the family was extremely large, and even the humblest, most distant relation of theirs could call on them for help, and were certain to receive it, for the Richmonds were clannish and fiercely, violently loyal to their friends. The fact that they were tremendously powerful had nothing to do with it, Marian assured herself wryly. But nothing had happened for nearly four seasons. Then the head of the family had vanished, along with his wife and children. No one knew what had happened to them, but the general opinion was that the Pargiters had taken their revenge.

And now to find that Catharine was one of them!

It was startling news, but was overshadowed by the newer, more worrying missive that came to the village the next morning.

The king was dead.

*

There was much wringing of paws and general lamenting over this news. The elders of the village feared for Aquile, but the younger creatures were excited at the thought of war, and the very young ones followed their example. There was an undercurrent of tension running through the country, but none felt this as keenly as Louisa and Catharine. The former grew pale and worried, however, the latter seemed to thrive on the trouble, and became self-assured and confident. Catharine wouldn't hesitate to put her opinion forward now, murmurs of agreement would be heard whenever she spoke, and the creatures began to look at her as a leader.

It could hardly go unnoticed by the government. The raiding on the border had grown much fiercer since the king's death, and Catharine saw the much bigger threat behind it.

"The Pargiters have brought armies from the deeper parts of Pargit. These forces need to be fed, so they loot and pillage the border towns in Aquile. They're definitely planning an invasion. Are we going to wait for these – these villains to walk in and steal your food and burn your crops? I won't! The council say war is not inevitable. I say it is. We're not going to stand for losing our homes, our families, and our food to those cruel tyrants. We'll fight, my friends. We'll fight!"

The council, or government, summoned the mousemaid to Dolene Castle. Catharine was brought before the council, and returned their stares look for look.

"You seem to want war. Don't you realise that we are trying to defend ourselves against the Pargit raids?" demanded a middle-aged hedgehog, before the young king could get a word in.

"The best defence is a strong offence. I think you should start offending right now. You've left it a bit late. Maybe you haven't heard that the Pargiters have captured Tarrence?"

As a matter of fact, the Pargiters hadn't, although they were besieging it. Catharine had heard rumours, and she knew that the town mayor was a weak stoat, and would easily crack under pressure. And that was pressure.

"We have hostages…" murmured someone. Catharine turned upon him.

"Cowards take hostages – warriors do not."

"I don't understand. Please elucidate."

"If you take hostages – you are cruel. You will kill those hostages if Pargit does not keep the peace. Innocent creatures! You are afraid that they will attack you. So you would imprison fellow creatures because you are afraid. That is cowardice."

"I would rather outthink them than outfight them," said Soneir quietly.

"Diplomacy is fine while it lasts," retorted Catharine. "But one little incident – perhaps the stealing of a loaf of bread – and where are all the negotiations then? Six feet under! Whereas," she added comfortably, "the victors write the history to their own advantage."

"But what if Pargit are the victors?"

"They won't be." Catharine looked at them. "Believe me. Some creatures call me a Messenger. But whoever I am, I am loyal to Aquile. Pargiters killed my family."

King Soneir looked at her. "Who are you?" he asked slowly.

"My name is Catharine Richmond."

*

"Edmund."

A handsome young mouse stepped forward and saluted.

"Edmund, this is Catharine. Look after her. Guard her with your life. Catharine, this is Edmund, Captain of the archers in the army. He will tell you all you need to know."

Edmund led the mousemaid through the long corridors. Once they were out of earshot, she turned to him and a smile tugged at her lips.

"At worst, I am a leader amongst the people, and a symbol. At best, I am a Messenger, sent by Sante to protect the good creatures of Aquile. Either way, I can't lose."

Edmund grinned too. He liked the mousemaid, he had been an ardent admirer of the Richmond family, and was fascinated by the harelike, devil-may-care attitude they had.

"I hope you won't be captured by the Pargiters then," he told her. "They couldn't really execute you as a prisoner of war, but you say you hear voices…they'd call you a sorceress, a witch. Burn you alive. I don't know – but they say it is best to do so in Borun Square – many executions are carried out there – oh, I'm sorry."

Catharine clenched the banister rail. "It's all right. My sister Agnese and my brother Rodrigo were hanged there, I believe. That's all."

Edmund raised his eyebrows and apologised again. "Tell me if my big mouth gets me into trouble – but it'll be better to train me, I think, rather than get somebody else, because they'll be worse than I am."

"You're quieter than most."

"So are you. That's why I'm so talkative."

"Do a lot of people like you?" asked Catharine, going off on a tangent.

"Don't suppose it's a question of that…most don't _dislike_ me, as a rule. I'm not generally offensive. But maybe they think I don't have any spirit. That's not very nice, perhaps, but it doesn't bother me because when I feel like it, I can have more personality in my left paw than, say, King Soneir has in his whole body. That's treason, I think, but no one cares, least of all Soneir. Especially since it's me…Soneir trusts me, you see. That's why I'm here, looking after you. My older sister" – he grimaced – "is your other completely trustworthy…when it suits us…companion."

Catharine laughed. Her whole face lit up when she did so, and she looked rather attractive. Edmund looked approvingly at her as he thumped on the door of the apartments where Catharine would sleep.

"Juna!" he called affectionately. "Your worst enemy has arrived – and no, I don't mean Catharine!"

A long, mocking groan came from inside. "No, never will I allow such a wicked one to enter! Sorry about this, it happens, Catharine."

"Catharine," returned Edmund, sounding irritated, "is laughing her little head off. So, I advise you to open the door before it rolls away down the hall."

Juna opened the door a crack, and Catharine and Edmund ducked inside. Juna looked interestedly at Catharine, who tilted her head on one side whimsically and studied Juna's face.

Catharine saw a tall mousemaid, perhaps a season or two older than herself, with a determined chin and appraising dark eyes. She bore a considerable resemblance to her handsome brother, and they were clearly very fond of each other.

Juna saw a young maid with thoughtful grey eyes and a decisive mouth. Catharine was good-looking in her own right, and the character in the small features accentuated this.

Overall, the impressions on both sides were favourable. Catharine held out her paw. Juna took it and they shook paws with, at worst, tolerance.

"What do you think about friendship, Catharine?" Juna asked her.

Catharine paused before answering. The few moments of waiting were agony to poor Edmund, who rocked backwards and forwards on his heels in agitation. Finally she spoke.

"Understanding has made friends of many different people. I think we all three are very different. But we understand each other. That's what matters. I think we are going to be friends."

*

"Fighting? Is that necessary?"

"Essential," replied Edmund coldly. The council looked at him in dismay. Already the archer had been won over to Catharine's side. And this was what King Soneir thought of as unimpressionable? But then, Soneir had a reputation for ambiguous words. 

Edmund was the sort of personality who won creatures to his side with charm and a good memory for names and faces. It was said that he knew the name of every single one of his eight thousand archers. Edmund added lightly: "And I know every single one of my best archer's eight thousand children, too!" For Ullios, the aforementioned archer, had sixteen children, talked of nothing but his family, and, it has to be said, even the most insignificant bow in the army knew the names of those children.

However, returning to the point, it was hardly unsurprising when the council heard that a mob had gathered outside the castle and were baying for blood, for fighting, for _war_.

"Oh dear," said King Soneir mildly when he heard the news. "I suppose we'll have to declare war then. Call the Captains, please. And Catharine Richmond."

The six Captains clanked in, followed by Catharine. Edmund shot a shrewd glance at Soneir, and smiled, satisfied.

"We're going to do something instead of sitting around on our backsides?" he inquired.

"Any more lip from you, young'un, and you can go 'ome!" snapped Alid, Captain of the Staffs, who was in his middle-seasons.

Edmund looked at Catharine with a dry grin. She smiled back at her companion. Alid caught the glances, and wondered…yes, he very much wondered…

"It would be impossible to raise the siege of !" declared the eldest councillor.

" 'Impossible' is a word you use far too often," said Catharine quietly. "Far too often."

*

The army that marched west towards Pargit were as disciplined as to gladden the heart of any Salamandastron officer. Catharine, with the Captains, was at the head. Edmund looked at her in silence for a while, then he spoke.

"It will be a risky thing to undertake."

"Risk is my business. Why do you think I undertook this war?"

"Because you're a Messenger."

"Yes…" Catharine was suddenly downcast. "I suppose so."

Edmund glanced at her again. "You're a loner, aren't you?"

Catharine repeated her former response. "Yes, I suppose so."

"I'd like to be your friend. And so would Juna."

"Thank you," said Catharine repressively.

"Oh – look!" cried Edmund, pointing to a break in the ranks. "Where've those stupid swordsbeasts gone?"

"It barely matters. Their stupid captain's gone with them," replied Catharine, nodding towards the head of the line.

It turned out that the large band of soldiers had seen a small party of Pargiters in the distance, so they had broken rank and set upon them, slaying every last one. 

Edmund remarked facetiously that this was hardly fair, they being a much bigger group. Catharine saw it a different way.

"Where's the victory in that? How can there be glory in winning a battle…or rather, a skirmish…that you can't possibly lose?"

"They weren't after glory, they were after spoils," retorted the Captain coldly.

"Really?" inquired Catharine with raised eyebrows. "I'm most disappointed. We're not trying to destroy Pargit, we're trying to stop them destroying us. There is a great difference."

There was no answer to that.

*

"We're recapturing Tarrence. Is that all?" asked Alid.

"No, of course it isn't." Catharine glared at him. "For a start, we're capturing Prent, which _Pargit_ built."

"Pargit?"

"Yes, Pargit. We're trying to capture that, because Pargit built Prent so that they could house their soldiers there. It's a proper castle, with murder holes and battlements."

"Why should we be bothered about murder holes?" asked Irimir, one of the axebeasts.

"Murder holes are…" Edmund trailed off, thinking. "Murder holes are where the castle owners drop big heavy rocks down tunnels. The tunnels come out at the sides of the castle and the rocks hit unlucky mice, hares, squirrels, moles…and especially axeshrews!"

The shrew stepped back hurriedly. "All right, all right, I'm going!"

Edmund looked at Catharine innocently when Irimir had gone. "What did I say?"

Catharine ignored him. "We take the supplies into the city, then we attack the little camp _there_." She pointed to a brown ring. "Early morning surprise attack. Then, if the Pargiters don't clear out of Prent by the next day, we attack it. We have a good few siege towers, and our trebuchets are the finest in Quadruple country. And," she added with quiet danger in her voice, "I want you to take their leader alive."


	2. High Noon

_"While the light lasts, I shall remember, and in the darkness I shall not forget."_

Agatha Christie, _While The Light Lasts_

__

While The Light Lasts Chapter Two – High Noon 

They looked at her as if she were mad.

"Take him alive!"

"Take him alive," repeated Catharine firmly.

"Why?"

"We may be able to ransom him, and that would be helpful. Secondly, I want him to go through agony – the same pain that he put me through when he murdered my family."

A light of comprehension flickered into Edmund's face. It died almost immediately at Catharine's next words.

"But personal reasons have nothing to do with this. If he is captured, then he is not to die with the rest of the prisoners."

Edmund decided that all females were crazy and restrung his bow without even noticing.

Catharine watched him do this and decided that all males were crazy and ran her paw over the edge of her sword without noticing the blood.

*

Catharine finished dictating her message to the Pargiters. Edmund ended his script with a flourish, and told her to make her mark just above the single line of writing.

_To_ _Valen Cruelsword, Captain of the Pargiters at Prent._

                  This is your last chance to leave Tarrence and Prent unharmed. If you have not left by sunset tomorrow, then we will attack Prent and raise the siege of Tarrence with such ferocity that it is likely that you yourself will be killed. We Aquilians have no fear of you usurpers. For the love of Sante, and to save your own miserable lives, leave now without further ado. Give us your answer by midnight tonight. 

_Signed, _

**X**

_Catharine Richmond._

"I'll teach you how to read and write during the campaign," offered Edmund generously. "It does help, because a lot of creatures will cheat you if you can't."

"All right."

Catharine thought of her sister Magdalen, who had almost been a saint. She'd even had a slight aura about her, which her siblings had taken for Loren's, the god of light and truth, blessing. Dorothea had been another such. She had loved and admired her sisters for that, but had often been exasperated with their – in her eyes – weakness. They had accepted everything as Sante's will, while she and the others had plotted their escape. They'd only managed to persuade them through saying that Sante might want them to use their intelligence and resourcefulness – for they were both, no matter how mild and saintly they were – in escaping. And what had it brought them? Death!

She remembered Agnese and Rodrigo. They had been the eldest, or Agnese had been, with Rodrigo half a season younger. They'd been the most handsome of the family, Agnese having an air of heavenly radiance about her, though she was far from being a Magdalen or Dorothea, in addition to the traditional family good looks. Rodrigo was an adventurer, no doubt about that, and there'd been a fatally attractive charm about the noble prisoner. All his thoughts, however, had been wrapped up in escape and vengeance on his captors. It had been a young mousemaid who had betrayed him, she had fallen in love with him, and become jealous of his preoccupation with something else, believing it was for another maid. It was said she had taken her own life in grief when he had been ceremonially stabbed through the heart in Borun Square. Catharine wished she'd been there, she had not hated the mousemaid for their betrayal, she had understood. They all had. Rodrigo, uncharacteristically, blamed himself, and had told the crowd so at his death. There had been riots in the mobs. 'Such a shame for two so young and beautiful!' they said. Not really. Agnese and Rodrigo had been made for youth, not age, and had died accordingly. No one thought about what they would have been like – perhaps even now they would have showed signs of ageing, being much older than Catharine, who was only a few seasons away from the time when she would have been free to do anything.

Then Frederick and Cadoc had died from torture. Their torturer had been a little harsh with the rack and other torture implements, Valen Cruelsword had said. It was true, for once, but the two had been troubled with fits of trembling and were suffering from a strange wasting sickness, and they would have faded away anyway. Catharine wondered suddenly whether her brothers had been poisoned, too…

Cruelsword had been the executioner of Agnese and Rodrigo, she had been forced to watch them die, and it was he who had passed judgement on them. He had worked the rack with his own paws, screwed the pawscrews himself, and again, he was the king's chief minister, and so decided their fate. She had known it was he who smothered her sisters, he had a certain peculiarity of walk, and she, crouched on her hard mattress, had closed her eyes tightly, feigning sleep, but listening intently. And it was certainly he who had decided to separate her from her youngest brother Giles. He was about half a season older than Juna, if he still lived, being a little older than Catharine, but less mature, if she remembered correctly.

She knew it was folly to want revenge on Cruelsword. But how badly she wanted to avenge her family! There was nothing more dear to her heart than that. 

Catharine resolutely shut those thoughts away. There was a battle to plan, and she was determined to win.

Edmund entered her tent. He was angry, she could tell that by the way he was moving, jerkily, almost tremblingly, and Edmund would never be afraid of a battle such a long time before it began.

"The answer?"

Edmund paused before bringing out a scroll from behind his back.

"Read it to me."

He bit his lip, seeming to search for a way out. Then:

"They've made some lewd remarks."

"So did half of the council," returned Catharine dryly. "Don't, then. But – '' she swung round menacingly – "if it's something important, don't you _dare_ – ''

"It's nothing of the sort," Edmund assured her hastily. "Just a lot of insults, and the underlying message (it's very subtle, I wasn't sure whether it wasn't a 'yes' and a lot of nasty things being said because they'd been frightened away) is a definite no-no."

"Good." Catharine turned away from Edmund, facing the wall so that he could not see the satisfied, almost cruel smile that transfixed her face. It was a beautiful thought that soon Valen Cruelsword would be at the mercy of the Aquilians – or rather, Catharine Richmond.

Edmund may not have been able to see the smile, but he knew it was there, and for the first time he began to doubt that Catharine was a true Messenger. The Messengers had never been governed by their own feelings; they had always been exempt from other creatures' passions, such as love, and revenge. Theirs, as a well-known author had said, was a high and lonely destiny. But oddly enough, Edmund loved his friend for all her faults, rather than for her virtues – excepting the aloofness that was so naturally a part of her.

He left the tent and went down to the lakeside to think it through.

Catharine herself pulled her cloak around her and slipped in amongst the soldiers. She started with a group of four around some glowing embers. Stoking up the fire until it was a hot blaze, more and more came to sit around, till some three score Aquilians were crouched nearby.

"What do you think of all this?" she asked a nearby squirrel, who grimaced.

"It's Aquile, mate. Personally, I don't much care who's on the throne. So long as they don't try and take away our freedom. I mean, we're all the same, aren't we? They're fighting for their country, us for ours. But deep down, well…"

"The people don't wish for war, they are driven to it by the madness of kings," said a snobbish swordshare.

"Up shut!" ordered someone. "The good ol' mousey wants to say somethin'."

"One creature's villain is another's hero," said Catharine cynically. "I expect that ferret is popular with his subjects."

An old otter shook his head. "He's not. I was in a Pargiter prison once. I was in a cell with a young Aquilian mouse and a Pargit weasel. I asked them what they'd done. The young'un was bitter and unhappy. He cried out that his family had all been murdered except for his sister, and the ferret separated him from her – and then he fell to his knees and cried his poor little heart out. I knelt and tried to comfort him, but the weasel simply looked at him and said: 'Do not look to escape from here. You would never have done it, even with your family beside you. For the Pargiters are bound to their king with a terrible bondage which none can understand. I broke free, and am here for my pains. My life is over, but I warn you, my friend, that no matter how far you are pushed, drive yourself insane, _die_ before you take the oath that will bind you to Pargit. For if you do, you will surely never be able to have free will. And you know this as well as I do, my child, freedom is the most wonderful thing in this world.' ''

The otter paused, and looked around. "The weasel died two hours later, at the break of dawn. As for the child, I do not know. But I can feel that he took those words to heart, that he has never taken the oath of allegiance. I know it as surely as that my own end is near."

There were protests at this, and Catharine slipped quietly away. She joined a group of voles.

"I think this war is stupid," complained one. "For a start, we're going to lose, and I don't fancy dying either in battle, or because I supported the resistance against the ferret. One king's as good as another to me."

"You can't _know_ that we'll lose," said Catharine quietly.

"I just know. I don't care what that midgety mousemaid and her bodyguard say, we'll be massacred. I'm leaving tonight."

There were murmurs of assent, but Catharine's face was impassive. Then she spoke, and the word came with such terrifying menace that the voles froze in shock.

"Cowards!"

"We're _not_," protested the biggest vole in a whining voice. "You don't _understand_."

"All I understand is that you apparently don't have the backbone to stand up and fight to protect the ones you love. I speak of courage, gentlemen. Does courage mean so little to you? If it does, then go – go now! I never want to look upon your faces again! Aquile is shamed by such as you!"

Catharine turned on her heel and walked away, but as she did so, the hood of her cloak fell, revealing her face in the flickering firelight.

"It's _her_…" whispered one of the voles.

"Yes, it is I. And I meant what I said. Go now, while you still have a chance to live. If you stay a moment longer, you will not see dawn break."

Five of the voles went, only the one who had spoken stayed behind.

"I hope I shall have the pleasure of seeing you on the scaffold, mousemaid!" he spat.

"You will not," returned Catharine repressively. "For, as I said, you will not even see dawn break tomorrow morning."

Something in her tone frightened the vole, and he went. But not far. He was found the next morning, floating in the lake – drowned. He had died just moments before dawn broke.

*

It was a strange dream. Faces floated before her, some she knew, many she did not. Louisa. Edmund. Soneir. Giles. Her other siblings. Her parents. Creatures whom she did not recognise. A mousemaid twirling a knotted rope. A mouse of the same age with a sword, which disappeared and was replaced by a dagger. That sword seemed to be carried by many. A squirrel with a bow and arrow, a molemaid with him. Two mighty badgers side by side. One was white, with no markings. Another badger behind them, with a great sword. Three hares behind him, two male, one female. Three more badgers stood together. Two swords and a massive club were their respective weapons. A kestrel flew round the head of the third, whose yellow stripe marked him as slightly different. A haremaid, shaking an old harecordion. A mouse somewhere in his middle seasons, with dark eyes and a wise face.  A black squirrel. Another squirrel, this time carrying a javelin. A cheeky-faced mouse, who seemed rather out of place amongst the others, except for the aforementioned haremaid. Another mouse, carrying a wooden staff. A sea otter with twin daggers, ready to pounce. Another otter came up behind him, with a sling twirling. He was badly scarred, and had a determined countenance, almost obsessive. Suddenly she felt she was being pushed into the future. More creatures appeared. Three mice, father, son and grandson, perhaps. They carried a sword, the same sword as the mouse with the mousemaid with the rope had carried. A massive badger, carrying an axe, and his daughter, who looked peaceful and motherly. A female otter with a bow and green-fletched arrows, looking hell-bent on revenge. A young hare carrying a dirk, and an old female squirrel showing him how to throw it. A female badger stalked in front of them, her eyes scarlet with Bloodwrath. A squirrel, carrying the sword again. Two squirrels, a shrew, and a watervole stood in a group, one with a green stick, the other with that strange sword, the shrew with his customary rapier, the vole did not seem to have a weapon. Then an otter with a four-petal mark on his paw, carrying a beautiful dagger. Finally, a mouse in full armour appeared, and he superseded every other creature. He had the sword, and he looked everything a warrior should. He spoke.

"When danger comes, trust only the archer. Others will lead you to death. When all you can do is done, listen to his judgement."

*

Catharine stirred uneasily. She could trust Edmund, that much was evident.

Suddenly she woke to the fact that she could hear no sound. Even Edmund seemed to be as silent as the grave.

She opened her eyes. No one was there. Horrified, she quickly dressed herself in her battle armour, and ran, at full speed, towards the dust cloud that was the army heading out from the camp. As she neared them, she saw that they had begun the attack.

Hissing with rage, she glared at Edmund before taking a run up and leaping the ditch into the Pargit camp. The palisade wall gave way as soon as she had done so, and the Aquilians piled in. They fought like mad things, and won the day. Catharine collapsed from exhaustion as soon as Edmund informed her that the camp was certainly destroyed.

"Tomorrow," he said, "we take on Prent."

"All right."

All right? Was that all she could say? Catharine was amazed at herself. Edmund was possibly the best friend she'd ever have, and she could barely be polite to him. Perhaps it was her upbringing. The Richmond way was to know how to get away with things, and stick by the other members of the family if you didn't. The rest of 'that rubbish', manners and so on, simply didn't matter. Rules, said the Richmonds, were made to be broken, just because they were made. But only break the rules if you have to. It's easier to get away with it if you don't.

Edmund seemed to understand, though. He made a rude sign towards the south, where Prent lay, which made Catharine laugh. Peace of mind was restored to the young warriors, and they went off arm in arm.

*

"_Follow me_! For king and country…for _me_…_follow me_!"

The hysterical warcry rang out over the silent army. Then a great roar arose from the waiting soldiers.

"Follow you! For king and country…follow you!"

Catharine folded her arms and smiled. The Aquilians were working themselves up into a bloodlust. It was destroy all from now on. The most efficient way of conducting a battle…so long as they won, of course.

Eight thousand archers drew their bows. They shot off a storm of arrows. Three thousand swordsbeasts marched forwards and began to scale the walls. Boiling oil poured down upon the leaders. Some were hacked to death as they reached the battlements. Axebeasts whacked and battered at the great door with their weapons.

"It'll be messy," said someone.

"There is no honourable way to kill, no gentle way to destroy; there is nothing good in war except it's ending," replied Edmund. The squirrel stared at him, obviously wondering about the archer's sanity, then walked away. It was almost with relief that Edmund saw a large boulder roll out of a murder hole and crush the squirrel. Not that it upset him, but if that little comment got back to his superiors, namely Catharine, it could be a bit awkward for a mouse…

*

The battle was going badly for the Aquilians. The wall climbers were being picked off one by one by creatures at the top – and horrible, cruel, ugly creatures they were too, Catharine thought furiously. The attacking forces were gradually losing courage, and Edmund had reported that the archers were running out of arrows. There was nothing else for it.

"Follow me!" she screamed, and hurled her way towards the ladders.

Edmund saw her, and was horrified. "Catharine, _no_!" he cried, trying to grab her arm. She twisted away from him and swung herself up the ladders.

And from a perfect viewpoint, a Pargit archer watched, waxing his bowstring and sharpening his best arrows. It was a chance of a lifetime.

*

Catharine reached the top of the walls. It was some fifty feet high, and she was about to scramble over the final stones when…

…Time slowed down.

She looked into the eyes of a hare that had been about to cut her down. 

"You won't need that," she told him, swaying a little. Her voice was strange, alien to her. It was if she was speaking from a great distance. The roar of battle was dulled in her ears; she felt a pain in her chest…

…And she toppled off the ladder.

*

Edmund had seen the archer shoot off his arrow and thought what a fool he was, practically sitting back to watch the results. He was also conscious of a great hatred, a blinding need for vengeance. Without even thinking, he aimed and shot and killed.

*

Catharine was on a stretcher, face pale, eyes burning feverishly.

"Edmund…promise me…promise me you'll continue the battle. You _must_…"

Edmund nodded fervently.

"_Promise me_!" commanded Catharine.

"I promise."

"Thank…you…"

She fell back into a faint, and Edmund took a few steps away from her. The doctor followed him.

"Well?" queried Edmund.

"The arrow is buried deep inside her, it will need to be extracted if she is to live. However, to extract it will quite possibly kill her. While it remains in there, it stops the flow of blood, and to remove it would mean that the blood loss would be – considerable, to say the least. However, infection will certainly set in if we leave it in there."

Edmund regarded the doctor with a certain amount of disgust. "Just say it, doctor."

"The arrow was poisoned."

*

It was extracted, of course, but none expected her to live. Only Edmund entertained the delusion that Aquile would win without Catharine's leadership – or rather, that Catharine would recover.

Meanwhile, Catharine was ill. She saw strange visions. She saw her family being murdered, she could hear Cadoc's screams as he was stretched on the rack, Frederick's cries as the pawscrews were screwed tighter, the muffled, choking gasps of Dorothea and Magdalen, the sobs of Giles as he was dragged away, out of the fortress, perhaps never to be seen again. She could hear Rodrigo's angry, bitter voice commanding Dorothea to fight for her life, there was the cold, clear voice of Agnese speaking to the witnesses of her execution.

Then a voice singing.

"_Pilgrim how you wander,_

_On the road you chose_

_To find out why the wind dies_

_And where the stories go._"

"Mother…" she whispered.

She could feel someone standing over her, calling her name. It was dark now; she felt a cool breeze waft over her face. She wanted to go to the creatures standing behind the gates of Dark Forest, Agnese, Rodrigo, Frederick, Cadoc, Magdalen, Dorothea, and her parents…

"Giles," she murmured. "Where are you? You should be here. My brother."

She tried to move towards the gates, to unlock them, but someone was dragging her away. She struggled and struggled, but could not escape from their grasp. She could hear voices again, but these sounded real – and it was only one, after all.

"Catharine, come back. Live. Live for me, and Aquile. Please, Catharine."

So Catharine did.

*

Edmund saw the creased brow relax, the burning eyes cool, the sweat didn't make a waterfall over her forehead any more. The fear that had gripped him for a night had softened and let go. He left the bedside and went to find an empty spot on the ground to rest his weary body.

*

Catharine woke at about daybreak. The sky was still grey and misty, but she wandered through the camp, looking about her at the sleeping bodies of her army. She glanced up at the castle. They had lost the battle, that was clear enough.

"You've been beaten!" cried a voice from the fortress. Her head snapped up, listening and watching the wildcat standing on the battlements.

"You've lost! Your little princess was killed yesterday. That virago of a mousemaid is dead! You've been beaten!"

Catharine broke out into a run. She leapt over corpses and sleepers, ignoring the results of stepping on one of the latter accidentally.

"You've been beaten!" reiterated the Pargiter.

"But not defeated!" she howled back up at him.

The wildcat stepped back in horror. Fear showed in every crack and line in his face. The Aquilian virago really was a demon, in the service of evil. She _must_ have some connection with Lord Vulpuz.

And as for Catharine, she was exultant. She could see the fear in the Pargiter's face, and she revelled in it. The overwhelming passion of her life was the avenging of her family, she believed, the clannish loyalty of the Richmonds had all come down into the one person, Catharine, and that meant she knew, or thought she knew, that her life was dedicated to vengeance. She threw back her head and laughed. And laughed. In every vibration of the sound there was a happiness that was almost frightening in it's madness.

Edmund, the sleeper whom she had trodden on, even shivered, afraid suddenly for his friend. The doctor had said the insane streak in Catharine might affect her recovery. Edmund had refused to believe that she was in the least bit crazy. He knew her better than the doctors. Now, he was not so sure. But there was persistence in Edmund's nature, and his heart would not listen to his head. He could not believe that Catharine was mad. He couldn't accept that verdict.

Well, at least she had recovered.

*

The battle was over. Valen Cruelsword had escaped somehow, Catharine was bitterly disappointed, but said nothing.

News came from the capital. As Edmund read it, he blanched and tried to throw the letter away carelessly, but Catharine noticed his demeanour, and inquired what was wrong.

Edmund could barely choke out the words. But one look was all his friend needed.

Soneir was dead.


	3. Midnight

"While the light lasts I shall remember, and in the darkness I shall not forget."

Agatha Christie,_ While The Light Lasts_

While The Light Lasts Midnight 

So. Soneir was dead. This changed things entirely. Nothing was quite as it seemed. Brother suspected brother of being a traitor. Sister wondered whether sister was spying for Pargit. Occasionally Catharine doubted even Edmund's loyalty. When convinced of his innocence in any treachery, she would reproach herself inwardly and outwardly be closer friends than ever with him.

Decetsle, the new fox king, was a strange one, unlike any ruler of Aquile in seasons gone by. Catharine and Edmund went to do homage to him at the coronation.

Although Catharine loved her country, she was a Richmond through and through – and therefore worked mainly for her clan and herself. Even if that meant fighting her overlord.

"There's only so many things you can do in a lifetime," she said to Edmund. "If my life does anything to keep Aquile free, I gladly give it."

Then, in her sleep, she would whisper: 

"Giles…where are you now?"

The pain of losing her brother had dulled in later seasons; fighting Pargit had sometimes made her cry, feeling as if, somehow, she was betraying him. There was only one comforting straw to cling to…she didn't feel as if she was betraying the Richmonds. Which made the pain worse.

If Catharine was betraying _Giles_ by fighting Pargit, then she must be betraying the Richmonds – for Giles was the embodiment of a Richmond.

But she didn't _feel_ like she was betraying the Richmonds. Just Giles – and that belief was breaking down as she thought about it. It was only Giles she was betraying. Only Giles. _Only_.

**_Flashback_**

_"Giles?"_

_"Go away, my darling sister though you are." Sarcastically._

_"I need to talk to you."_

_"Catharine, I have raids to plan, things to steal."_

_"Like Vulpuz you have."_

_"Language! I'll tell Mother."_

_"You wouldn't. Whatever happened to family loyalty?"_

_"Oh, my dear sister, that doesn't count. Not within the family confines it doesn't."_

_"It always does. No matter where you are, no matter whom you're with."_

_"My darling sister." Giles planted a kiss on the top of Catharine's head. His words dripped with cynical humour – at Catharine's expense. Not that that was unusual._

_"Giles – "_

_Giles told their mother about what Catharine had said. Catharine got a beating that night._

_She never swore in front of Giles again. But she did do one thing._

_"Tell tale tit,_

_Your tongue shall be slit,_

_And all the little dicky birds_

_Shall have a little bit."_

She had never really liked or trusted Giles again.

*

"This could be _It_. _The_ battle. All we have to do is send a spy – preferably two spies – into the Pargit camp."

"And?"

"And what?"

"What for?"

Alid looked nonplussed. "To spy, of course."

"What do we want to know?"

"Battle plans. Anything!"

Catharine sighed. "Listen, if we don't know what we're looking for, it's just an unnecessary risk."

Alid was upset. He was also extremely uncomfortable with Catharine's cool objections to his plan.

"I volunteer," said Edmund quietly. "I'll do it. But I want to know what I'm doing."

"If you go, then I do," Catharine informed him.

"Catharine – "

"No 'buts', Captain. I'm coming with you."

*

It was not known how Catharine and Edmund insinuated themselves into Cruelsword's company. Nor did anyone ever know how they found out such information in such time. The fact remained that they did, and that it was vital.

And now it was the last night of their mission. Cruelsword was happy. He had obviously been drinking a lot. Hearty slaps on the back and roaring laughter testified to this.

He began to become more thoughtful as the night went on. Almost sad now.

"I'm not an evil creature," he said, shaking his head. "Oh, no. Consider Tarrence and Prent." Then, with a sudden outburst of passion:

"I should've killed them all! I should have made the place into a graveyard the like of which Quadruple country has never seen! But I didn't…"

"And that…is why you're not an evil creature?"

*

They were surrounded. A guard had seen them escaping and raised the alarm.

Howling, raging mobs were closing in on them. Catharine hadn't realised the Pargit army was so big…they were going to die…

Edmund turned to her suddenly.

"I love you."

She couldn't answer, too paralysed with fear.

"Say something!"

A burst of wry humour somehow surfaced. Giving her friend a lop-sided smile she replied mournfully:

"You picked a great time to tell me…"

And then they were submerged in the force of a mad bloodlust from their furious enemy…

*

Catharine awoke in darkness. Someone was shaking her.

"Edmund?" she whispered, reaching up to touch the other's face.

"No, I'm not Edmund. My name's Louisa."

"Louisa?" Catharine came fully awake. "Are you from Aquile?"

"And proud of it! Those…_vermin_ tortured me, but they haven't made me forget that. Yet," she added bitterly.

"My name's Catharine."

Louisa fell back in astonishment.

"Catharine? Catharine Richmond?"

"Yes."

"Kit! It's Louisa…from Porran and Marian…do you remember me?"

"I couldn't forget," said Catharine truthfully.

"Same here.  Oh, Catharine!"

Catharine hugged her companion, feeling considerably happier than she had been at first.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Borun Castle. The dungeons, naturally. The best accommodations!"

"Are either of us sentenced to death?"

"I am." Louisa was suddenly serious. "I attacked a guard when they brought me in. You'll need some kind of trial."

"A trial?"

"Hardly, I think. Nothing more than a mockery, really. You know they're going to find you guilty however innocent you are."

"I suppose." Catharine was silent. "Who is the judge?"

"Valen Cruelsword, of course. Who else?" Louisa sounded bitter. No wonder! Two seasons imprisonment in Borun was enough to sour the nicest creature.

But Catharine was thinking of her family again. Valen Cruelsword had destroyed them all, now he would have her executed and complete his cycle of death and destruction.

Or would he?

That faint nagging feeling that something, somewhere, was not quite right – or rather, not quite balanced. It was Giles again, of course. Something about him. It didn't add up. There was a strange aura of knowledge about it, as if Catharine already knew what it was, but refused to admit it.

Then the door opened, and a guard stepped in.

"You." He grabbed Catharine's arm. She struggled feebly, knowing that submission was inevitable. "You're going before the judges. Now."

And as the door clanged shut once more, Louisa's heart-rending wail accompanied a death knell.

*

"For the love of Sante, just let me go!" Edmund was pacing the polished marble slabs before the King and Queen of Aquile.

"We've been through this, Captain." Decetsle smiled slyly. "However much you wish to rescue your…friend, we have made a peace treaty with Pargit, and we cannot break it."

Edmund stopped dead in his tracks.

"And what are the terms of this treaty?" he inquired, not daring to believe his ears.

"In return for a large amount of gold, silver, and other valuables, Pargit will not attack us."

"Oh, yes. You give them money to raise an army to attack us while we have no treasure of our own. Very clever."

"They will not attack us," said Decetsle confidently.

"How do you know?" asked Edmund, raising his eyebrows defiantly. Then he left the room.

"The dolt! The fool! We're paying good money to have that maid executed," fumed Decetsle.

"He is very young," soothed the Queen.

"Youth doesn't excuse everything," said her husband, and he stormed out.

*

Catharine stood before the jury. This was merely a formality, she knew, but she was willing to answer all their questions truthfully, and let them judge her.

They started innocuously enough.

"What is your name?"

"Catharine Richmond."

"How old are you?"

"I have seen nineteen winters."

"Where were you born?"

"Jendarc, in Aquile."

"What were your parents' names?"

"Elein and Cardan Richmond."

"Elein was your mother?"

"Yes."

"Did you have any siblings?"

"Seven."

"What were their names, and were they older or younger than yourself?"

"I was the youngest of them. From the oldest to youngest, Agnese, Rodrigo, Frederick, Cadoc, Dorothea, Magdalen, Giles, me."

Then the interrogation began to become harsher.

"Were your parents the traitor family Richmond?"

"They weren't traitors! They were loyal to their country – Aquile. As their children were. As I am."

The Pargit creatures in the hall seemed to share a private joke. Smiles were hidden behind paws.

"Do you know what happened to your brother Giles?"

"No. We were separated several seasons ago."

"Did you incite the subjects of Aquile to rebellion against their leaders?"

"No, I did not."

"But several sources report inflammatory speeches being spoken by you."

"I informed the people of Aquile of what was going to happen to our country. They called me a Messenger and King Soneir summoned me to Dolene Castle and gave me command over the army."

"Why do you think he did that?"

"He seemed to think I had military skills and that I was a symbol to other creatures."

The jury glanced at each other, and then they looked at Cruelsword. He was smiling slightly.

"I think that the court should be adjourned. Perhaps the guards will take our little crusader to Sareis House. The verdict shall be given two days from now."

As the guards took hold of Catharine's tunic, a strange light came into her eyes and she cried out:

"A thousand curses upon your head, Valen Cruelsword! May the souls of those you have murdered so brutally haunt you forever!"

The sun shone brightly down on the young mousemaid. A slight breeze from the cracks blew gently at her tunic. She seemed unearthly, apart from other creatures. Even Cruelsword shrank back in his seat, afraid of what this heavenly avenger might do.

Then the light faded, and Catharine was simply just yet another angry, bitter prisoner.

*

Catharine was dragged from the cart, struggling fiercely, but with that same feeling of inevitability as she had had when she was taken from the cell.

"No – I will not – _I will not_." She was screaming now, desperately trying to escape the paws of the powerful guard.

Eventually she was forced inside. To her surprise, she was not hustled down to the cells with indecent haste. She had a strange sense of déja vú.

She entered a room that was sumptuously furnished. Catharine gasped. Not even the royal apartments at Dolene Castle had been this expensively done. It was amazing, fascinating to her.

In a large chair, a young mouse reclined. He got up as she approached, and bowed his head politely.

"Good afternoon, little sister," he said.

It was Giles.

*

The sun was going in as Louisa was led out to the gallows. The noose was placed around her neck and the executioner kicked the stool away.

As she lashed out with her legs, pictures danced before her eyes, strangely coloured. Catharine, sleepwalking. Herself asking Marian worried questions. Her own capture. Louisa's life flashed before her eyes. Her last thought was:

_Was it really all worth the effort?_

*

"You – you _traitor_!"

Giles seemed unconcerned by his sister's angry words. He smiled cynically at the maid – whom he thought of as little more than a baby – who was staring back at him, eyes wide and horrified.

"How _could _you?" Her voice was incredulous.

"That does not matter, my dear little one."

That did it. Catharine leapt forward and fastened her paws around her brother's throat, clutching, squeezing with insane energy.

"Oh, my dearest Catharine, I am afraid you have a lot to learn," drawled Giles, as the guards dragged her back.

"My friends will help me!" she screamed.

"I don't think so, young sister. Just two hours ago Pargit signed a peace treaty with Aquile – and the terms are most advantageous to Valen Cruelsword and his master. There will be very few to support you! Catharine. You are a war heroine. But you did not take your cue. You should have died back at the camp, dying heroically, so creatures would say: 'What a sad story!' Now they will say: 'She died ignobly, an embarrassment to the king'. The trouble with you, Catharine, is that you don't know when to give up. But the treaty has been signed – and it doubled as your death warrant.

"And that means," he continued scornfully, "that we will crush your pitiful friends. No, Catharine! Clamp down on that part of you that says proudly 'I am a Richmond!' The Richmond power died the day we were captured. You are nothing now, nothing – unless you join me and fight with Pargit."

Catharine was silent. She was remembering Giles as he had been as a babe. Always the lovable clown. The little handsome baby brother whom the others had looked for first. Before Catharine. Oh, how she had longed for their elder siblings to notice her!

**_Flashback_**

_"Giles! Where are you? Oh, there you are, Gis. Come and play with Dorry."_

_Giles screwed his face up, wrinkling his nose in delight. He loved it when the older ones wanted him. Even if it was only his sisters talking baby talk and tickling him and making funny noises like 'jidgy, jidgy', Giles wallowed in the attention._

_Catharine looked pleadingly up at Dorothea, who pretended not to see the big eyes filling with miserable tears._

**_Don't take away my playmate. Take me. For once, to make me so happy I could live on it for seasons. Choose me._**

_"Gissy, Gissy, come and give your big sister a kiss."_

_Giles did so._

_"Hi, young'un. How are you today? Killed any dragons yet?" That was Rodrigo._

_"Maggy!"_

_"How's my favet ickle bruvver then?"_

_"Hiya, mate. Climb up here and sit with us. That's the ticket."_

_"Giles, my little one. How have you fared today?"_

_Giles told their parents his latest achievement._

_"That's my good son! Always ready to please Father!"_

_Giles this, Giles that…_

_"Chin up, Catharine. You'll get yours someday."_

That had been Frederick. Cadoc had grinned at her once.

It was the only real affection she had ever been shown by her family.

When she looked back at Giles, seasons of jealousy rose up in a storm. Why should she join him? He had overshadowed her, made her seem small and insignificant – her own mother had all but neglected her duties to Catharine so that her darling youngest son would have more motherly care.

A feeling of revulsion swept over her. Giles had had all the family love – indeed, no one had paid any attention to her – 

**_Flashback_**

_"Hello, Jila, lovely to see you. Don't you just hate these family gatherings? Great-Aunt Doolie means well, but she can be so aggravating…of course, when any outsiders are round I praise her to the skies, and I'd never let another body harm her…"_

_"Elein, I'm delighted somebody feels the same way about Doolie as I do, she never will let things go, even outnumbered a hundred to one. Is this your youngest? What a charming lad!"_

_"Yes, isn't he? My youngest, I do believe, yes. Of course, with our clan, it's hard to tell whose child is whose…Giles; this is your Aunt Jila. Say hello."_

_Giles lisped out a greeting. He didn't even have a lisp, it was affected, so's to charm more people. Wasn't he satisfied with taking their whole immediate family away from his baby sister?_

_"What is it, Catharine? Oh no, Jila, this is my youngest. Catharine, greet your Aunt Jila."_

_"Good evening, Aunt Jila."_

_Aunt Jila laughed. "Such a solemn little thing, Elein! How did you and Cardan produce such a one? Giles is more your son than your little – what was her name? – Karen, you say – could ever be."_

Giles had had admiration, a show of affection, warmth, lavish tenderness…and he had betrayed their family. That was the source of the revulsion. And what of Catharine? The love that had been missing all her life could be replaced now with a more sustaining, intoxicating love. The love of power.

But had that love gone so far astray?

Edmund loved her, she knew, but that love had not touched her. Or had it? Doubts of Edmund's loyalty had been able to murder her sleep, and she had often walked about the camp, those little voices in her head arguing, tormenting her. One had told her that he was guilty, that she should expel him from the army and leave him to go back to Pargit in disgrace. The other, the stronger voice, had told her that Edmund would never be a traitor to Aquile – or, more importantly, her. Was that love, telling her to trust her friend?

Catharine sighed. What did it matter? Edmund had not betrayed her.  But his friend Catharine Richmond was going to die now anyway. What did it matter if he meant more to her than that? Whatever choice she made, Catharine Richmond was going to be destroyed forever.

_Not forever_. _Those we love never truly leave us. You will live for Edmund, Louisa, Juna – all who cared about you – in memories. That is where you will survive._

Catharine made up her mind in the blink of an eye. She would die Catharine Richmond, not some little Aquilian turncoat! Giles had no right to the name of their house.

"When did you become a Pargiter?" she asked. Her voice was strangely calm.

Giles's eyes opened wide.

"About six seasons ago."

Three seasons after they were separated, then. It was her turn to look scornful. He had only been able to hold out that long?  A true Richmond would have held out until they died, and in the life beyond, if necessary.

"Why?"

The sound was harsh. Giles drew back, suddenly afraid.

"They – they f-forced m-me – "

"Don't lie," said Catharine, and now her voice was cold steel.

"You don't understand! They threatened to kill me, Catharine!"

"Then you should have _died_! Died, as we would have done before we joined our clan's murderers!"

Catharine was howling now, eyes blazing, face contorted in fury, hatred – and sorrow.

"Don't you _understand_? These creatures killed your brothers, they killed your sisters, they killed your parents. You should have realised that if _Valen _didn't kill you, _I_ would. _We_ would. _The House of Richmond would._ Goodbye, Giles."

Giles screamed and shrank back. The ghosts of his dead family appeared to have risen up behind his youngest sister. Their gaze was bitter, accusing – 

Ashamed. Ashamed of themselves for bringing such a one into the world.

*

Catharine was flung back in her prison. She took deep breaths, shuddering violently from her encounter, and threw herself down into the straw laid there for her bedding.

Why had he joined Pargit? Out of fear, he had said, but no other Richmond had ever been afraid. _She_ should have been the one to join them – poor, neglected Catharine, not handsome, popular Giles.

The season Catharine spent in prison gave her plenty of time for reflection.

Giles, she thought, was so used to coddling, creatures always at his bidding, happily running along. She, on the other hand, had learnt to stand on her own footpaws when she was no more than a tiny babe.

So he hadn't been able to fight any torture, been able to stand a prisoner's conditions. She had. And she'd had something else. Brains. Brains that planned and organised an escape. She had been able to seize an opportunity.

Giles hadn't. There lay the difference between them.

She thought of other things, too, in that sojourn in prison. Edmund, for instance. She wondered what had happened to him. She hoped that he was fighting on alone, for her sake.

Love. That was all she had ever wanted. Perhaps her family had loved her after all. She had certainly loved them with a passionate affection she could give to no one else.

At some points her musings on love and her thoughts of Edmund became intertwined. She missed him more than she ever had Giles.

But then again, Edmund had loved her.

When she slept, more faces sprang up to greet her. Her family, mostly. They smiled, hugged her, _loved_ her. Giles was not with them, and this cheered the maid more than anything.

They spoke to her. Most often it was Agnese or Rodrigo, and they always seemed to give sound advice in her dreams, but when she awoke, their words were empty and meaningless to Catharine's tortured heart.

"True love should always win," said Rodrigo bitterly, once. Perhaps he was thinking of the mousemaid who had betrayed them so long ago.

"The point is," Agnese added, "that sometimes we don't see true love even when it's staring us right in the face."

"What do you mean?" Catharine tried to ask. But their faces slid away into a mist, and she woke up.

She felt curiously light-headed and too warm. By the time the guards came to throw the daily meal at her, she had a raging fever. Pictures swam before her eyes. Edmund, calling to Juna, her parents – dead, Giles…a traitor…Edmund again, saying he loved her – with a ironic twist in that she never really got a chance to answer.

And she heard a voice saying something over the noise of battle.

"Nothing makes us more vulnerable than when we love someone. We can be hurt very easily. But I've always believed what you _get_ when you love someone is far greater than what you risk."

Another voice:

"Don't give me all that tosh about Messengers and 'a high and lonely destiny'. When there's trouble, somebeast will rise to the occasion. There are many who are capable. A Messenger is just a creature who knows what they're doing. Creatures seem to think they're some type of god. If you elevate a person to a certain position, then usually they will fulfil their duties well. Good propaganda is everything."

It seemed as if the prisoner would never recover. And the government were thankful for it.

*

"She is extremely ill, sire. It is thought that she cannot possibly recover."

Cruelsword scratched his chin with a claw, nodding absently. He was weighing the balance of whether it would be better to let her die or not. Finally his eyes darkened with rage and he glared fiercely down at his underlings.

"If she dies," he hissed, "I will hold you…_personally_ responsible. Send a message to the best healer in the country. He _must_ come immediately to Sareis House. No one must know of her – indisposition."

If Catharine died of her illness, Valen Cruelsword could imagine the consequences. However many treaties were signed, however many peaces were declared, the Aquilians still worshipped her. Decetsle would be forced into war by them, and if he tried to stop it, he would almost certainly be deposed, and probably murdered by that young troublemaker – the archer captain, or somebeast like that. The Aquilian Queen had said something about him being in love with the mousemaid.

Cruelsword was not a fool. He knew perfectly well how powerful love could be, although he had never experienced it. He also knew how much hatred could achieve – and the two were not unalike, no matter what was said. And so Catharine recovered. 

She was born for a more dramatic death…

*

Decetsle and his queen received the news on a sunny afternoon. Decetsle's face broke into a delighted smirk (he found it too painful to smile), and his queen gave a poor imitation of a happy expression. She had been very fond of the mousemaid.

*

Edmund heard the message in silence. When it was done, he bowed his head and said nothing. There was nothing to say. His sister, Juna, had said it all already.

*

The ferret monarch burst out laughing when he heard. He had never heard anything so exquisitely hilarious in all his life. Fancy calling that baby a witch! A mere child accused of witchcraft! The ferret wiped tears from his eyes and waved his servants away.

It was, he thought, clever of Valen Cruelsword. As a proved sorceress, (although the Pargiter knew there was no such thing) he could not be charged with wanting her out of the way for other reasons. If he was lucky, some creatures in the Quadruple kingdom might actually believe it.

*

Marian, the plump hogwife, heard the news from a messenger whom she had given shelter for the night. Shock preceded sorrow and anger. When she listened to the fiery speeches of those who knew and loved her little lodger, one of her 'children', like the rest of Aquile she was inflamed with fury at the sly Decetsle.

*

There was no expression on Giles's face as he was informed of the news. The blankness unnerved the messenger, who ran away as soon as he could.

*

Werrinder and Siret, the other two countries in the Quadruple kingdom, had discreetly kept out of the war. The two more peace-loving of the four territories, no one ever questioned their involvement. Aquile and Pargit hated each other, and always had, but Werrinder and Siret were indifferent. But even they, as nations, were indignant at the sentence of Catharine Richmond, leader of armies, warrior of the people. To them, she symbolised Aquile.

*

To Catharine herself it was a mere repeat of all she had lived through before in her nightmare. The cold voice of the judge, the mocking, triumphant applause from the jury and spectators. She could almost feel now the crackling, the burning, the searing pain…

Almost. It hadn't happened yet. But it would. As sure as the sun would go on rising, and the moon would keep on changing, she would die…

They had said she was a witch, which made her laugh hysterically. The punishment she had expected, she remembered her vivid dream only too well. She had but one request.

"Tell Edmund I loved him, I really did."

She knew Giles would carry it out, not for her sake, but out of fear of the Richmonds.

Now she was being led out to the stake. They bound her to it, and she stood there quietly, acquiescent for once.

They were lighting the faggots. Soon it would be all over. Deep, dark, blissful oblivion…

*

Edmund received the report of her death with a strange detachment. Again, no words were spoken. He bowed his head silently.

Alone, in his room, he rested his head on the cool stone wall. He tried to weep, but tears refused to come, and he could only feel a great numbness.

_Let the redwoods die_

_Let the wells run dry_

_You know you can never make me love you more._

He wanted to scream, to cry, to rail against fate, to beg for a reason why Catharine had died. Of course, he knew all the political issues and whatnot, but to him and the rest of Aquile, what was that?

_High up on the parapet_

_A Scottish piper stands alone_

_And high on the wind_

_The highland drums begin to roll_

_And something from the past just comes_

_And stares into my soul_

His best memory of his friend was of her standing alone on the ramparts of Dolene Castle. The wind blew at her robes and cloak, as she faced into the gale.

She had been laughing.

Catharine had been seeing something quite, quite different from the view over the hills, magnificent though it was.

Perhaps, even then, she had known. And she had been laughing.

A timid knock sounded at the door.

"Who is it?" he called.

"A message."

"Come in."

The door opened. A young squirrel entered. He spoke.

"My name is Erik. I come from the Rebellion against Decetsle and his Pargit backers…"

_Don't you love the sound_

_Of the last laugh, my friend?_

_Don't you love the sound_

_Of the last laugh at the end?_


	4. And So Endeth This Mournful Tale (Author...

While The Light Lasts – Author's Note

I'm glad that's finished. I really loved that series – and now I'm going to work on _Love In The Light_ and my Marshank soliloquies. (_You Can Run, Time and Tide, Beyond The Pale_, etc.) If I can.

I didn't want to kill Catharine. In my original version, I let there be some doubt as to her fate, but I found it too difficult in the end to pull off. My brother forced me to kill her, saying 'don't be a wimp', and I hate it when he has a bad opinion of me.

*

Disclaimer: Don't fall asleep, please.

Part 1: I don't think there's anything here that isn't mine. Please review or e-mail me at kelpie@merseymail.com to yell at me for not giving BJ or Enya, etc. proper credit.

Part 2: The song Catharine hears in her fever is an Enya song, _Pilgrim_. Of course, all the characters she sees in her dream are Redwall characters, pretty easy to guess who.

Part 3: The 'redwoods die' bit is an extract from a Steps song _Love U More_. It's not perfect, I typed it from memory. The 'high up on the parapet' is from a Mark Knopfler song _What It Is_. The 'last laugh' is from a Mark Knopfler song called (guess what?) _The Last Laugh_. (Getting a great idea for a Sirius Black songfic – see my 'Jennifer Longbottom' profile for my Harry Potter stories). I don't think there's anything else. Oh, wait! Lots of quotes (too many to name here) come from my adored _Quotable Star Trek_. Hate the T.V. programme, love the book. There's a few droplets of wisdom from a couple of others, too, whom I can't remember. (Haven't I got a wonderful memory?)

*

Aquile – from Aquitaine, a part of France (which I'm sure you already know.)

Pargit – a bit weird. I was reading _Death In The Clouds_ and the fictional mystery writer Daniel Clancy calls one of his characters 'Pargit'.

*

And so endeth the pointless ramble.

"Ignorance of the rules is not individuality." – my brother. And so endeth the very random quote.


End file.
